How many good memories are enough?
The linguified brain collects them like the children
Collected armfuls of beach glass along this shore
Not long ago—happily, competitively, dropping
Some of the best finds as they stooped to grab
More and more. One boy was determined
To take every last piece of his home with him.
One girl only cared for the thickest bits of cloudy
Shards, another only for the bluest and for any
Painted porcelain. That was a good memory.
Today on the stony beach devoid of children,
I spotted an abandoned cache beneath the maple
Where, another summer, to enchant daughter,
I had painted a tiny red doorknob near the roots,
A fairy door. Someone has amused themselves
Recently by precisely applying a bright green wad
Of chewing gum over the faded red dot. It’s still
A good fairy door. If no other children take them,
Come winter, the waves will rescatter the glass.
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